Touch
by repmetsyrrah
Summary: S/T AU. Sybil and Tom make love for the first time since he lost his sight. Part of my blind Tom AU.


**A/N:** So after numerous requests for this moment in my blind Tom AU the muse finally bit and here it is: Sybil and Tom's first time after he lost his sight.

Thanks to babageneush for the beta.

**Touch**

* * *

As soon as the door closes he tugs her hand, waiting until he feels her turn to face him before bringing his other hand up to cup her face and guide her mouth to his, kissing her firmly.

"And what was that for?" she asks as they separate, a teasing but happy note in her voice.

He smiles. "That was for my wife," he tells her simply. "And for _this_."

He places his hands on her hips and runs them up her waist, feeling the divine material of the new dress she had purchased that day. It was as if she had wrapped herself in a cloud, the dress floating so wonderfully around her, so incredibly smooth and soft.

He had commented on it in the drawing room before dinner, tracing the shoulder and back of it and finding himself unable to recall the shape of them from any in his memory.

Mary had told him she'd surprised Sybil with a shopping trip that day, an early birthday present, and she had chosen the dress there. But it wasn't until Cora made a tactful but dismayed comment about it not being Sybil's colour that he had realised.

The dress had _felt_ wonderful, the material so beautifully silky under his hands. Sliding perfectly against her skin, completely lacking any hard embellishments or unusual protrusions. Sybil hadn't cared about the colour, or the look, her husband was blind after all, and she had bought a dress he could appreciate.

Their kisses grow deeper and more passionate until Tom makes himself pull back, knowing where they're leading.

"Can we?" he asks, mindful that she may not be ready yet, even three months after giving birth to their daughter, not wanting to push her.

"Dr. Clarkson said I was fine weeks ago," she tells him and there's a note in her voice he can't place.

"Is everything really okay?" he asks, frowning and raising a hand to her face, a gesture she encourages him to use often, though he's not confident enough to attempt it anywhere outside the sanctuary of their room.

Her head is down but at his touch she tilts it back up and his fingertips flutter over lips pressed firmly together but there's a firmness to her cheeks, like she's smiling or trying not to cry.

Or both.

"Do you really want to?"

And then he understands.

It's not her, it's him.

Since he'd lost his sight he knows he's been distant, though it's hard not to be, when he feels so useless and pitied. He's been grieving too, for a life lost.

There had been no body to place in the ground but a life had been taken from him that day. The life he thought he would lead, in Dublin, with his wife and their children, with a real job, and good, hard-working life, supporting and providing for his family like a proper man.

Grief had affected him, isolated him. A normal response, he knows, but the knowledge didn't change his sullenness, his mourning, the loss of his appetite, not only for food but for his wife too.

Sybil had put up with it all, just when he thought he couldn't love her any more. She had always been the light of his life and now he was forever trapped in darkness. He needs her light more than he needs air in his lungs.

It will be the first time since the raid, since the accident that forever robbed him of his sight and he's not sure how it will work.

But he is sure of one thing. He won't let this be taken away from him too. Not ever.

It has been so long, he's not surprised she asked. But tonight, feeling the flowing dress sliding over her skin, feeling her body pressed up against his.

He wants nothing more.

"Sit down." It was meant to be a request but he's so eager to start it comes out more as an order.

An apology is on his lips before he hears her giggle. "Yes, sir," she replies, low and amused as she takes his hand and pulls him gently with her until he feels her sit in front of him.

He smiles. If that was how she liked it...

"Hold you leg out," he orders her.

He kneels, one hand finding her knee and tracing a path down the calf until he finds her shoe and gently pulls it off.

There's a moment of awkward hesitation as he tries to figure out what to do with it before tossing it under the bed. He can find it later but he doesn't want to leave it anywhere he could trip over if he forgets before morning.

He runs his hands back up her leg over her knee and under her dress, smiling as he feels her shiver under his touch.

Before, he used to love watching her peel the layers off, marvelling as the clothes slid off to reveal her perfect, unblemished skin.

Now his world is ruled by touch, and it's different, of course it is, but as he draws her stocking down, it's so very familiar too. The feel of the material on his palms, and the smooth skin revealed to his fingertips that trail after is still such a beautiful contrast.

"Stand," he orders, once he's stripped her other leg, and she runs her hands up his arms, resting them on his shoulders so he can feel that's she's complied.

He stays kneeling, not losing contact with her as he runs his hands up her bare legs, continuing when he reaches the hem of her dress, carrying it with him, over the swell of her hips and the curve of her waist, allowing his thumbs to brush the soft mounds of her breasts as she dutifully lifts her arms and allows him to pull it off completely.

Her undergarments follow sooner after, Tom especially enjoying running his hands over her breasts, allowing himself the pleasure of exploring them with his hands fully as he divests her of her brassiere.

"You have me at a disadvantage, Mr. Branson." He shivers at the warm breath on his neck as she whispers into his ear, once she is fully unclothed.

He's hard already and they're both too eager to repeat the ritual with him, instead Sybil helps him quickly rid himself of his dinner suit.

"My turn," She tells him, when they're done, giving her own order. "Lie down."

"Yes, milady."

She helps him turn until he feels the bed on the back of his legs. She gives him a light push and he sits, this time pulling her with him and she follows gladly, gently guiding him with her hands to lie where she wants.

He feels her position a leg on either side of him and lets out a gasp as she takes him in her hand, stroking him until he can't bear her teasing anymore and he places his hands on her hips, pulling downwards. She laughs at his frustration but he knows she must be needing it too and she wastes no time in giving him what they both want.

He groans as she sinks down onto him, wondering how he ever survived without the ecstasy that is being inside her. Her thighs hold him tight as she starts and he feels his useless eyes roll back in his head as his hands come up to hold her hips, helping her move on top of him.

It's wonderful... but there's something missing.

He remembers the way she throws her head back when she's like this, how the curve of her neck leads down to her perfectly formed breasts that he truly did love to watch move as she rose and fell back down onto him.

But the memory is not enough.

Without warning he sits up, hearing her gasp as his hand comes up to hold her back and in one smooth motion, he rolls them so he's lying on top of her, and suddenly it's not just her legs and hips he feels. Her breasts push up into his chest; he brushes her neck with one hand, moving it up into her hair as his mouth captures hers again.

He's not sure if she understands entirely but she gives him what he needs, her arms coming up to move across his back, her nails digging in, leaving marks he'll never see nor care about. One hand keeps moving, up into his hair, drawing his head down to rest beside hers. Her legs loosen from his hips and move down his, she hooks her feet behind his knees, using the movement to pull him down, deeper into her.

Her entire body is in contact with him and now, joined like this, he feels almost as if he can see her again.

"Yes," he hears himself tell her, "harder."

He has no idea if he's referring to her nails on his back or the way her hips are rising to meet his movements. It doesn't matter really. All that matters is that every part of her is against every part of him, moving and pressing harder and faster into his body.

Because he can't see her. And lacking sight, he _needs_ her against him like this, he needs to _feel_ her, to touch her, to know that she's there with him, completely and utterly.

It's been a while and it's no surprise to either of them when they reach their peaks quickly. Sybil gasps and presses herself up into him, quickly pushing him over and he cries out, gathering her in his arms and holding her to him as he spills into her.

He feels himself collapse and through the haze of pleasure he manages to roll off her, hearing her breathing rapidly beside him as she comes down herself.

When he can think again he realises he's gone too far, the loss of contact suddenly trapping him alone in the dark again. He can hear her but after that, it's not enough.

"Come here." He reaches out and fumbles until she grasps his hand. The bed moves as she shifts towards him, but instead of curling up to his side like she usually would, she swings her leg to rest between his and lifts her body to lie on him, so he can feel her completely again.

"Is it better like this?" she asks softly, pulling the sheets up to cover them both and he feels sorry for ever doubting she may not have understood.

"Yes," he tells her, moving his hands over her body, trailing down her back and up again to her head, pulling her down into a long kiss.

"I'm sorry," he says suddenly as she pulls back. "I just… I know I've been distant and-"

He's stopped mid-sentence as her lips press against his, cutting off his apology.

"No," he pushes her back gently, "Love, let me just say it."

"You don't have to," she assures him, "Tom, you don't have to say anything."

"I do," he insists. "Because it's not fair, to shut you out, when all you've done is help me and look after me." He hesitates then makes himself continue, it's far past time to let her in. "I'm scared, Sybil."

"I know." This time it's her who lays her hands on his face, and he closes his eyes as her fingers brush over them.

"I would give anything you know," she says after a moment. "I would give _anything_ if it meant you didn't have to go through this."

He's never doubted that. But there is nothing to be done about it. He's blind, and they had to live with it.

"What can I do?" he asks her.

"You can let me help you," she says immediately, as if she's been waiting for that very question since the first day he'd woken up in hospital. "I know you hate that cane but... you need it. And I know typing is harder and reading too but there are ways and you need to learn them and_ I can help you_. I can help you with all of it. You only have to let me. Please."

He doesn't hesitate this time, pulling her down into another kiss, trying to say everything he can't with words. Pouring his apology into it and his promise to do better by her from this moment on.

She deserves more than a poor, blind Irishman but that's what she has now. So he can only give her what he can, and he vows to do exactly that, never shutting her out again.

"Yes," he promises her as they part. "You can help me."

She doesn't reply but when he lifts a hand to her face, his fingers trace the curve of a smile.


End file.
